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                “Scott, tell me you’re joking…Of course you aren’t. Okay, I’ll be right there.” The one time he doesn’t join Scott and Derek for a supernatural rendezvous, and this is what happens. Honestly, how do they live without him?

                What’s even funnier was that Derek’s mouth—Derek’s—was what got them into trouble. Derek was one of the most taciturn people Stiles had ever met, and yet, he was the one who found himself cursed after back-talking a witch. The universe really fucking hated Derek's guts.

                Scott was alright because, unlike some people, he wasn’t a rude sourpuss. The two wolves were only supposed to check out the site in the woods that Deaton had told them about. A new supernatural source in town always warranted an investigation based on their past experiences with newcomers to Beacon Hills.

                Stiles hopped in his Jeep and drove to the animal clinic, parking in front of the back entrance. Scott met him outside, looking frazzled.    

                “You said she cursed him. What did she do?”

                Scott bit his lip. “Maybe it’s easier if I just show you. Just…don’t make any loud noises or sudden movements.”

                “You want me to be still and quiet? You do know who you’re talking to, right?”

                Scott gave him his foolproof, deep-molasses, puppy-dog eyes, begging him to be serious.

                The first thing Stiles saw inside was Deaton, sporting his typical aloof and unreadable expression. That man would not form an emotion even in the midst of the apocalypse. Derek was comparably…less put-together.

                “Why is he naked?” Stiles hissed, lifting his eyes hurriedly from the nude wolf-man crouching in the corner.

                Scott winced. “He keeps shredding through the clothes we give him, and it didn’t seem important enough to, um…”

                “Get shish-kabobbed over?” Stiles finished.

                “He seems happier that way,” Scott finished lamely. “We’re not sure how feral he is. If he can recognize us or anything.”

                Stiles flicked his eyes back to Derek, whose head had snapped up when he first entered. If he really couldn’t remember them, then he would be especially guarded in a room full of strangers. Strange sounds and smells.


                Derek moved slightly, straightening his back, his nostrils flaring as he scented the air. He sported a crowded mouthful of fangs and extended claws, his eyes glowing a steady blue. He wasn’t in his beta shift, but his wolf features probably wouldn’t recede until they fixed him.

                “Now,” Scott began, “the witch told Derek something, but we’re not sure—”

                Scott was interrupted by a fleshy mass loping past him. In easy strides, Derek walked towards him and Scott with unwavering determination. Out of the corner of his eye, Stiles saw Deaton push himself off of the wall, watching with equal parts fascination and wariness. And holy god, full-frontal Derek was an eyeful, but that would need to be considered at a later time because—

                “What the fuck is he—Jesus Christ,” Stiles cried in a strangled voice. Derek had pushed right into his personal space, caging him in against the wall, and bitten.

                Not a friendly nibble or a fun love bite or even an irritable nip. He bit hard, with his wolf teeth, at the junction between Stiles’ right shoulder and neck. And it fucking hurt like a motherfucking son of a bitch. At least, that’s how Stiles eloquently expressed the sensation in his head. Sharp, bright pain and an instant ache.  

                “Hold on, Stiles,” Scott said hurriedly, “I’ll get him off of you.”

                At the same time Deaton said, “I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Stiles was exclaiming, “For the love of god, don’t touch him. He’ll take half my shoulder with him.”

                As if to reinforce that fear, Derek started snarling when Scott moved closer. Stiles whimpered, and the Alpha backed up.

                “I didn’t bother him before. That’s how we got him back here. I flashed my Alpha eyes at him, and he followed me. It seemed to be the only thing he understood.”

                “Derek’s operating on a purely primal level right now,” Deaton remarked, moving slowly on the far side of the examination table to better see their condition. “You’re the closest thing he has to an Alpha, so he submitted to you. But there’s a stronger instinct for wolves than following the command of their Alpha.”

                “And that’s me? Why?” Stiles asked hysterically. Derek’s fangs were still lodged in his skin, and Stiles felt the blood dripping down under the collar of his shirt.

                “Oh,” Scott said ominously before sharing a look with Deaton.

                “What is it? You’re both being annoyingly cryptic, and I would love to get this werewolf away from my jugular.”

                “You’re his mate, Stiles,” Deaton answered. “You share a connection, even if you were unaware of it until now. He’ll listen to you above anyone else.”

                “You have got to be fucking kidding me.” He gritted his teeth together. “Derek, let go.” Predictably, nothing. “Off. Get off of the Stiles.” Derek never made anything goddamned easy, did he? “Get off of me, you complete asshole,” he snarled, squeezing the wolf’s nape as hard as he could, tugging at his hair.

                Derek lifted off, eyes blazing with an icy brilliance, Stiles’ blood all over his teeth and his lips. It was a little too much to take in at the moment.

                “The least you could do is take some of my pain if you’re going to chomp on me, you bastard.” Stiles touched his fingers to the bite, which was emphatically throbbing, every pulse of hurt a reminder.

                Deaton started pulling supplies out of drawers and cabinets. “Stiles, hop onto an exam table, and I’ll take a look at that.”

                Stiles moved forward, and where he went, Derek followed. It was beyond unsettling. He was going to be so traumatized by the end of this evening.

                Whenever Deaton’s intent to approach became clear, Derek started growling, pushing himself against Stiles’ back, practically lunging over his shoulder to threaten the vet.

                Stiles shuddered when he turned his head and found a mouth full of gnashed fangs. One bite was enough. He thought about scooting away from Derek, but that was a probably a terrible idea. And a pointless one.

                “Hey, calm down. Derek, can you understand me?” Stiles pushed at the wolf’s chest, trying to get him off, away. For a brief moment, Derek looked down at the hand pressing against his sternum, and Stiles was so sure he was going to lose that limb.

                Derek made a huffing noise but relented, generously giving him a whole two centimeters of space between their bodies. He snarled under his breath when Deaton came up to the side of the table, even more so when he touched with his latex gloves. Some things couldn’t be helped. There was no mangling or blood splatter, and that was good enough for Stiles.

                “How bad is it? Do I need stitches?”

                “No. The punctures are deep, but they’ll knit back together on their own. I’m afraid they will leave a scar though.”

                “I assume that’s what he wanted.” He glared at Derek out of the corner of his eyes.

                Deaton nodded, opening a box of bandages. “It’s a mating bite.” He swabbed over the wound with antiseptic, using light touches and compassionate hands. It still stung like a bitch, and Stiles’ eyes watered.

                He felt a clawed hand on his triceps, the pain breaking temporarily. He craned his head, despite Deaton’s suffering sigh at his movement, and saw the black tendrils crawling up Derek’s arm.

                Even if Derek couldn’t understand language, he understood enough. “Good job, big guy,” he murmured, enjoying the relief and the settling within his body, blood calming. “So, how are we going to fix him?”

                “I don’t think the witch will change him back,” Scott lamented. “She seemed pretty adamant about him fulfilling the conditions of his release from the curse.” The Alpha traded another covert glance with Deaton. “She wasn’t too thrilled when I asked her the first time.”

                “What aren’t you two telling me?” Stiles narrowed his eyes at both of them.

                Deaton crossed his arms. “The easiest way to change him back is to follow the witch’s instructions. Do as she intended.”

                “What was Derek supposed to do?” Neither one of them answered, and Stiles felt himself getting more unnerved with every second. The only reason they would be so hesitant was if Derek’s cure involved him.

                Scott finally took pity on him and answered. “She said she was doing him a favor in the long run. He’s supposed to, um, consummate his mating bond.”

                “Of fucking course she did.” Stiles had known. There were only so many conclusions to draw based on the new revelation that he was Derek’s mate. He fidgeted, clearing his throat, before he looked up at Deaton. “Do you-do you know how much—how far I would have to…?”

                 The vet replied gently, and that’s when Stiles knew he was fucked. Or about to be. “Wolves…mount their mates. I’m not certain, but I would assume…”

                “Yeah, I got it,” Stiles grumbled. “Is there any other way? Some other magic that could override her curse?”

                “If there is, I don’t know of any. And I wouldn’t have the capabilities if I did. I’m sorry.”

                Scott moved closer despite Derek’s warning growl, drawn  to comfort his friend. “Stiles, you don’t have to do this. I’ll find another way. I can try and find her again. I’ll work something out.” Typical Scott, going to the ends of the Earth to try and protect him.

                “Thanks, Scotty, but it’s not that I don’t want to…It’s kind of the opposite, actually.”

                Scott’s eyebrows inched up his forehead in surprise. “Oh.”

                Stiles started twitching anxiously, picking at his nails in his lap. Deaton pretended he needed to do something in the other room and gave them some privacy. He was an alright guy.

                “He’ll hate me, right?” Stiles laughed, and a stitch tore inside of him, ripping open and spilling. “He’d have to, wouldn’t he?”

                “Maybe, but I don’t think so. I think he’ll understand.”

                Derek pushed his nose into the back of his hair, and Stiles dropped his head in defeat. This was going to be a goddamned disaster.

                “Your scent changed. He—he can tell you’re sad,” Scott said quietly.

                Stiles jumped down from the table. “No time like the present, I guess.”

                Scott’s face was full of worry. “If you change your mind or need me to come get you for any reason, you call me.”

                Stiles’ lips quivered into a smile, and his breath stuttered in his chest. He was feeling a little unsteady and vulnerable right now, and Scott’s words were fortifying.

                “Thanks, buddy.” Derek be damned, he squeezed the Alpha’s shoulder.

                Stiles hadn’t needed to pull teeth to get Derek to follow. Although, thinking about it, Stiles would like to yank out a few Derek’s fangs; his bite was starting to smart again.

                Stiles popped the trunk of his Jeep, pushing aside his jumper cables and toolbox until he found his lacrosse bag. And now for the hard part.

                As soon as he held out his basketball shorts, Derek elevated his resting bitch-face to a new level.

                “God, you’re an asshole. You cannot trudge around town naked. The people in your apartment building will call the police…or proposition you in some orgiastic mass. And guess whose father is the head of the police? So, no. Pants.”  Stiles shook them emphatically in front of Derek’s face, but the wolf didn’t look like he gave any more fucks than he did five seconds ago.

                “Do I have to incentivize you? Because I will bribe you if it means you putting on some fucking clothes.”

                Derek blinked.

                Stiles groaned.

                An endless cycle of two obstinate assholes.

                “The sooner you put on these shorts, the sooner we’ll get back to the lof—den.” Stiles imagined he was being patronizing, but what the fuck ever. He was not equipped to coddle naked-ass wolfmen  with the maturity of toddlers.

                Stiles moved forward slowly. He sensed that Derek would not appreciate surprises. The wolf eyed him warily but didn’t posture like he was threatened. Stiles was his goddamn werewolf betrothed after all.

                “Just stand there. Behave. I’ll do all the work.” He touched Derek’s calf and waited, and eventually the wolf lifted his foot enough for him to slide the material around his ankles. “That’s right,” he crooned softly, keeping his hands gentle and unhurried. “We’re not even considering maiming our mate, are we? No, not when he is in kneeing distance of your balls.” Stiles pulled the shorts up to Derek’s hips, backed away, and exhaled.

                Like fucking brain surgery.

                “Good. Great. Do not shred my shorts, do you hear me?” It was like talking to a brick wall even more than usual with Derek.  

                “Alright. Let’s go.” Stiles opened the passenger’s side for the wolf, who climbed over the console into the back seat.

                “Right.” Stiles let the “t” click against his teeth. He couldn’t even laugh at this point, his life was becoming so ridiculous.

                The longer he drove, the more unsettled he became. It took all of his concentration not to jiggle his foot while it was on the brake and kill both of them.

                Derek attracted enough attention on the walk up to his loft that Stiles wondered whether the shorts were worth it at all. Luckily, he kept a pair of sunglasses in his glove compartment. Forcing Derek to wear those had been nearly impossible, with copious amounts of screaming and expletives from Stiles and dull, uninterested glowers from Derek.

                The wolf still looked conspicuous as hell when Stiles finished with him, but it would have to do. Sharing the elevator with a guy who lived on the top floor with Derek was a slow, awkward agony. The man kept looking at Derek out of the corners of his eyes. What, with the bare feet and no shirt and fists clenched to hide talon-like nails. And the fucker wouldn’t stop growling, pissy that someone strange was sharing a confined space with them. 

                “Yep, no more drinking for him. Crazy night,” Stiles joked stiffly. Derek’s floor neighbor practically ran out of the elevator when it opened.

                “You are a professional lurker, and now is the time you choose to call attention to yourself,” Stiles hissed, pulling Derek by the arm.

                Stiles’ laugh was slightly manic when he found Derek’s loft unlocked. Small favors. He did not want to have to drag Derek down to the super and convince him to open the apartment.

                “That is not safe, but thankfully, your poor judgment is our good fortune. In you go, Neanderwolf.”

                Stiles locked the door behind them and leaned against it, relieved that he had gotten them both here without any major incident.

                Meanwhile, Derek was sniffing the air with what Stiles thought was satisfaction. The wolf knew this place was his, untainted. His own little corner of the world.

                It was actually sort of…adorable?...seeing Derek release the tension in his shoulders, scan the loft with a self-assured expression at what a good den he had made for himself and his mate.

                Stiles felt the corner of his lips curl and bit viciously into his own tongue. Not adorable. This wasn’t right, and he shouldn’t take any pleasure in it.

                He tapped Derek on the shoulder, and the wolf turned. The loft had no lights on save for the moonlight pooling in from the windows. The blue of Derek’s eyes seemed softer now. Pretty, maybe.

                Stiles cleared his throat and rested his palm against Derek’s shoulder. If he couldn’t even do that, then there was no point to this whole plan. “I wish you could tell me if this was the right thing for you, but I-I don’t know. If it’s not, I hope you’ll forgive me.”

                His stomach clenched uneasily, and he inhaled, steady, slow. Derek’s eyes tracked his hand as he moved it up to the wolf’s cheek. “I don’t want to be just another person who’s taken advantage of you.” Derek nuzzled against his palm, and Stiles inched closer, dropping his hand down Derek’s neck to feel the hot thrum of blood under the skin.

                Derek couldn’t kiss him back. Kissing was human. It didn’t make sense to wolves. But Derek didn’t seem bothered by it. Maybe a little confused.

                He remained still and quiet while Stiles pressed fleeting kisses to his cheekbones and his throat and his temples. It wasn’t a good idea to become any more emotionally invested; this wasn’t real. But he couldn’t—he couldn’t just—

                The wolf rumbled deeply when he scratched lightly through his chest hair, let his fingers bump along Derek’s abdominal muscles.       

                “Okay, it’s okay,” he whispered, releasing a shuddering breath while he pushed his shorts off of Derek’s hips. Derek seemed glad to be rid of them, stepping out and then kicking them behind him with a swipe of his foot.

                Stiles was a little preoccupied handling a fully-naked Derek again or else he would have been offended.

                But…yeah, preoccupied.

                That was—well, there was just really no other way Stiles could think to frame his thought. That was a lot of dick.

                His tame ministrations seemed to be working for Derek because his cock was half-hard, perking up proudly between a solid set of thighs. Stiles kind of wanted to feel them wrapped around his face.

                “Jesus Christ, focus,” he grumbled to himself. And then Derek faceplanted against his neck, puffing and rubbing, and his dick pressed firmly against Stiles’ hip. “Oh, god, this is going to be record-level horrible sex. Why am I in charge of this?”

                The wolf caught on quickly and started rubbing himself against Stiles’ front, releasing intermittent growls.

                “Derek, back up. Goddamnit, give me an inch of space before you pulverize my hipbones.” Stiles nudged the wolf back a little, tangled his own hair into an even more chaotic display with nervous fingers, and then gripped Derek’s dick with the same hand.

                Derek released an initial snarl but quickly reverted to shouldering into Stiles’ space, licking under his jaw and thrusting his hips into Stiles’ hand. He was shameless in every sense of the word.

                “That’s good, right?” Stiles murmured, focusing on stroking Derek easily, slowly. Some parts of it were nice. Derek’s body was pretty amazing, to see and to touch. His skin was soft, and frankly, his cock was wonderful.

                But it would have been better if Derek could kiss him and settle the frantic energy buzzing around him, make him forget about everything else. If the wolf was the one guiding Stiles through this instead because he had no idea what he was doing.

                He stepped back, luring Derek closer to the bed. No to this floor. Emphatically no. The wolf followed instantly, eager for Stiles’ hand again. He grunted when Stiles circled his fingers back around his cock and pawed clumsily at Stiles’ arms.

                “We’ll just get you off, and hopefully that’s the extent of consummation we need.” Derek didn’t know how to work his hands like this, with thumbs and individual, grasping fingers, but eventually, he held Stiles by the shoulders. His hips jerked forwards, pulling the muscles in his groin and belly in a distracting ripple of flexion.

                Stiles’ rhythm faltered as he tried to rearrange his own aching, confined junk. He was hypnotized by the head of Derek’s cock poking through the ring of his fingers, sliding wetly in and out of its bunching foreskin. It was, um. It was really something.

                Stiles was weak, so he palmed himself, only once, for a few seconds to satiate the throbbing in his cock, the tightness in his balls. He wanted so badly to drop to his knees, bruise them up from Derek’s unforgiving concrete floors, and finish the wolf off in his mouth.

                But he was wary at best of Derek’s control right now, and he was trying to cause a minimal amount of damage in their pseudo-relationship. If a handjob was all he had to do, then they would get away easy on this one.

                “C’mon, Derek. Come. Please,” Stiles whispered humidly into Derek’s skin and kissed his neck again. He sped up his hand, and the wolf growled, anchoring his own hands deeper into the muscle of Stiles’ shoulders. He felt the prick of nails, and then Derek howled.

                Full-on, window-rattling, bone-vibrating howling. Derek’s poor neighbors. He shot in hot, powerful spurts, splattering the floor and Stiles’ hand. A little got on Stiles’ plaid shirt.

                Stiles pulled off the over shirt, wiped the come off his hands, and then threw it aside. “Derek, are you back?”

                Judging by the way the wolf tossed him backwards onto the bed, Stiles surmised that no, he wasn’t. “Of course not,” he muttered. “Oh, and by the way, fuck you very much. There’s no reason to throw me around.” It had knocked the breath out of him a little, and thinking about how little energy Derek exerted to do it was…concerning. Not sexy. Not. Sexy.

                Derek crawled up after him, fumbling at his hip and his shoulder. The movements were so awkward and heavy-handed that it took Stiles a few moments to realize what the wolf was trying to do.

                “Oh, fuck no. Don’t you dare. Get the hell off me.” Stiles tried to scoot to the other side of the bed, but Derek pulled him back by his shirt tail, taking some of Stiles’ skin with it. The pain was sharp and quick like a paper cut, and Derek’s claws left trails of heat and a sting behind them.

                “Derek, let go.” His voice was rising with panic when the wolf finally managed to put him on his belly, smothering Stiles’ body with his own. One hand fastened onto the back of his neck while Derek started fumbling at his jeans. Anxious to uncover bare skin and breed his mate properly. He couldn’t do that with denim in the way.

                “Stop it. Stop. Please, just wait a second,” he cried out shrilly, squirming in distress, but Derek’s hand was like an iron bar on his nape. His shirt tore down the back, and the wolf had shoved Stiles’ jeans almost down past his ass, oblivious to the nicks that his claws were creating in the process.  

                Stiles worked an arm out from under himself and elbowed backwards wildly, colliding with some part of Derek. It hurt, but he flipped over onto his back and kicked Derek with as much force as he could muster. The wolf toppled backwards off the bed and hit the floor.

                He didn’t wait to see what happened. He curled against the wall, pulling his knees tight up to his chest, hiding between them.

                His heart was thundering, beating so hard it was almost painful. The cuts weren’t serious, but they itched and burned when he shifted. He cried, shaken from the feelings of complete helplessness and immobility  when Derek had pinned him down. This decidedly had been a horrible fucking idea. And this—this wasn’t how things were supposed to happen.

                Stiles heard the creak of the bed and felt the sag of the mattress, lifting his eyes. Derek was on his hands and knees, moving forward cautiously. The wolf pushed their faces together, whining softly, and nudged under Stiles’ chin until he raised his head.

                He licked at Stiles’ tears, making hurt, despaired noises in the back of his throat. It was the closest to speech Stiles had heard from him so far. 

                “I know you didn’t mean to,” Stiles husked thickly, swallowing back tears and mucus. “I know you got carried away.” He grabbed Derek’s face and pulled it close, their eyes inevitably connected. “But what you did was not okay.”

                Stiles reached down to the hem of shirt and pulled it up so that Derek could see the scratches. Derek’s whimpers continued, and he bent his head, presumably to lick away the pain there, too, but Stiles pulled him by the jaw until their faces were level again.

                “I know you can smell my pain right now, my fear. You probably don’t like it very much. Well…good. You fucking deserve it.” Stiles closed his eyes and swallowed, softened his voice. “You have to listen to me.” He shook Derek’s face in his hands. “Do you understand me? You have to listen.”

                His hand snaked around to Derek’s nape and tugged at the hair. It had stopped him before in the clinic. “Do you understand?”

                Derek snuffled behind his ear and nuzzled against the side of throat without the bandage. “Okay. Then let’s get you back to your slightly more civilized self.”

                He went searching through Derek’s nightstand drawers for lube. It was the good shit, too, not the hydrating moisturizer that Stiles used so that his dad wouldn’t find anything questionable in his room.

                Stiles paused near the side of the bed, his arms crossed. Derek was watching him with unwavering attention, as seemed to be his default wolfy state.

                “Rules: there will be no neck clamping, no hands and knees, no biting, and no scratching. We’re doing the good ol’ missionary position where I can keep a handle on your reins.”

                Derek blinked.

                “Great.” Stiles started undressing carefully, and Derek’s body twitched with interest. “Stay there,” he snapped sternly and didn’t move until the wolf settled once again.

                He exhaled, letting some of his tension escape. Wolf-Derek was capable of learning. They would get through this, and Derek would be back. It was sort of tragic how badly Stiles wanted to hear Derek’s dry wit and sarcastic jabs again. He didn’t want him to be stuck like this.

                Stiles mourned his shirt once he saw the damage, practically ripped from collar to hem, covered in blood on one shoulder from Derek’s bite. He shivered once he was naked, the floor cold under his bare feet. Derek’s scrutinizing stare wasn’t making him any more comfortable. But it was a flattering kind of stare, he guessed?

                Derek damned that thought to hell by flicking his tongue across his fangs. Stiles covered his private regions in a flurry of movement. He covered his nipples, too, like he was some goddamned  maiden in a classical painting. As if that would somehow erase the temptation for Derek. It was a trying time, okay? His dignity would just have to excuse him.

                “No biting. Do you hear me, you bastard?” Stiles could see the gears turning in that wolfy head now that all of his vulnerable bare skin was exposed. Should I nibble on the human?

                Stiles walked over to Derek and kneeled on the side of the bed. He cupped the side of Derek’s face, and the wolf rumbled happily, letting his eyelids droop. With his other hand, Stiles peeled the tape holding the bandage in place and set it aside.

                The wolf’s eyes widened instantly, pupils dilating, as he saw his mark, his mating bite. Stiles combed a hand through Derek’s hair. “See, you’ve already got one bite in. I’m already yours, okay? So don’t bite me. Please?” 

                Stiles settled onto the side of the bed and propped a pillow behind his neck so that he could see himself better.

                He flicked his eyes to Derek. “I, uh, I need to get myself ready, and your claws are coming nowhere near my delicate bits. So, just…be patient. I don’t usually do this with an audience.”

                Stiles pointedly tried to ignore the hulking wolf pressed along his side, watching him pop open the lube with shining, curious eyes. Stiles started slow, slipping one finger inside of himself, and breathed out. He picked up his left leg and planted his foot, giving himself better access.

                He hadn’t done this for about a week. School had been hectic, and his dad had been home most nights. And he liked to take his time when he fingered himself, let his arousal swell and the heat wash over him.

                Two fingers were perfect for him, just enough stretch. Doing this on his back made his wrist tired, but he was not going to turn over and incite a riot within Derek’s mount-driven brain.

                He added more lube at three fingers and winced. Derek’s nostrils flared, and he laid his hand on Stiles’ knee, drawing the discomfort.

                “Thanks,” he murmured, a little breathless. With Derek absorbing his pain, there was nothing left but pleasure, and his cock started filling up again.

                “What the hell are you doing now?” Stiles groaned and paused, three fingers deep in his ass as Derek tunneled under his bent leg to get up close and personal with Stiles’ groin.

                “Derek, Derek, are you sure you want to—oh, dear god—” Without his clothes trapping in the scent of his arousal, Derek was eager to investigate the scent of his cock, the salty taste of his warm skin. He had licked over the head of Stiles’ dick, taking up what little precome had oozed out. Stiles arched his back, digging the heel of his foot that was now hanging over Derek’s shoulder into the wolf’s rib cage.

                “Lick—licking is g-good. Okay.” His fever-rant ceased as he bit into his bottom lip, forcing out a guttural moan. Derek was tonguing his balls leisurely, very thoroughly, and then moving on to the smooth path of skin behind them.

                Yep, Derek was never going to forgive him. Stiles scissored his fingers and whimpered, it was so damn good.

                On pure instinct, he reached out and grasped a clump of Derek’s hair. The wolf tensed and froze, nuzzling gently at Stiles’ inner thigh in question.

                “Oh. Um, no, you didn’t do anything wrong. I just, um…” Lost my fucking mind for a few seconds. “But good job on the listening part. You can keep doing the licking. If you want. Or not, you know.” Stiles untangled his fingers from Derek’s thick hair, letting his hand rest on the crown of the wolf’s head.

                Derek nosed at a scratch near one of Stiles’ hip bones before dipping his head down to where Stiles’ fingers were still opening himself. Derek’s tongue tickled as it slid along and between his fingers. Stiles withdrew his hand, and the wolf ducked in farther between his legs, and that did not tickle. That did something else entirely.

                “Bad, bad, oh, fuck, this is so bad.” Stiles couldn’t suppress his guilty ramblings, his hips twitching restlessly while Derek lapped at his hole. His mouth was so hot and slick and perfect and right where he needed it. Fucking hell, did he want to come.

                “Stopstopstop,” Stiles panted, tugging at the wolf’s hair, dragging him up his body by the handful. He figured he had drawn this out enough and reached down between them for Derek’s cock.

                “It’s okay.” He wasn’t sure which one of them he was reassuring, but he petted Derek’s shoulder while he smeared lube over his dick. Derek’s lips were glistening, his cheeks pretty-pink and warm from feasting between Stiles’ thighs.  

                “Here. Come here.” Stiles pulled the wolf by his cock, Derek huffing and then shuffling forward so that Stiles could press the head of Derek’s cock against his rim.

                Stiles rooted a hand deep in Derek’s hair, locked his ankles behind Derek’s back. “Slowly, Derek. Please. Slowly.” He dug his heels into the wolf’s spine, and Derek followed his impulse to claim, to breed.

                Derek rocked forward steadily, and Stiles felt the breath punch out of him again. His voice cracked in a breathy moan with the second thrust, the third. He lost count after that.

                Derek felt a lot bigger than he looked, but the burn was fading. It was all fading, especially when he wrapped a lube-sticky hand around his own dick.

                He opened his eyes because he wanted to remember. He would never have this again; he had no right to it. But it was so good. How was it this good?

                “It shouldn’t be this good. Not when you’re just rutting into me.” He groaned when Derek bottomed out again, dragging his cock in and out, without rhythm or finesse. It was perfect.

                Stiles tried to hold back his keen when Derek struck his prostate coincidentally, but a garbled half-scream escaped, and he pulled Derek in tighter with his legs.

                The wolf snarled and snapped his hips forward, trying to make Stiles howl with him. He finally succeeded when he popped his knot inside of Stiles’ ass.

                Tears streamed from the corners of Stiles’ eyes, and he came brutally, muscles clenching and clamping with tightness. Once Derek had worked his knot inside, he grinded against Stiles’ ass for the last bit of friction he needed to finish mating.

                Stiles was limp and breathing heavily as Derek leaned over him, making that alarmed whining noise again, licking once more at Stiles’ tears.

                “Shh, good tears. I’m just a little overwhelmed. Your knot’s really fucking big,” he laughed, choked with tears. “I want you to come.”

                He rubbed across Derek’s shoulders, and fuck it all, pulled the wolf down for a kiss on the mouth that was full of teeth. He wouldn’t have another chance. Derek was fucking hard and fast against him, knot pulling at his rim, and Stiles just rode the sensation. The impact was devastating and incredible, and he didn’t want it to end.

                Derek stilled and growled, leaning heavily onto him, forehead pressed against Stiles’ sternum. Moist breaths burst against his bare skin. The last of Derek’s bucking hips.

                The wolf inhaled deeply, like a swimmer coming up for a breath, and his body shuddered all over. A lump formed in Stiles’ throat.

                “Derek?” he asked tremulously.

                “Stiles.” The wolf picked up his head, voice raspy but mouth now full of teeth more bunny than wolf. His eyes were hazel again, dilated and sex-high from the come and the pheromones of his mate. “Oh, Stiles, look what I’ve done to you.” He tipped Stiles’ head to the side and took a long look at the bite. Stiles swallowed underneath his fingertips, and Derek pulled away abruptly.  

                The movement jostled the knot, and Stiles gasped in discomfort.

                “Sorry. Stiles, I’m so sorry.”

                “This is my fault,” Stiles whispered, his eyes burning with the threat of more tears. “I should have tried harder to find another way.”

                Derek shook his head. “You did what you had to.”

                “Forgive me. God, Derek.” Stiles hiccupped, chest shaking, as fresh, warm trails slid down his face.

                “If you can forgive me.” Derek thumbed at his tears.

                “I don’t regret it—this. I don’t know what that makes me...”

                 “Crazy. But I already knew that.” Derek smiled softly. He traced one of Stiles’ eyebrows with a light touch and a newfound heavy affection, and Stiles quaked inside with hope. “I remember everything that happened, but I was too deep inside of myself. I couldn’t reach the surface…I hurt you,” he finished, voice quiet and forehead wrinkled with trouble.

                “You weren’t in control of yourself. It was an accident.”

                “It won’t happen again,” Derek promised gravely. “Give me time, and I’ll prove it to you. I’ll earn you.”

                Stiles’ heart did a funny thing then, flittering like a bird trapped within his ribcage. “Are you saying—?”

                “I didn’t plan on having this conversation until you were older. Maybe out of college. But we can’t go back to the way things used to be.”

                “I. I don’t want to go back,” Stiles breathed.

                “You should take your time with this. Make sure it’s what you really want.”

                “I did. Done. It’s you. Please.” Derek tipped Stiles’ head back and pressed their lips together. Shallow and sweet, breathing in one another.

                “Hey, Derek?” Stiles mumbled, brushing their noses together so that the wolf huffed good-naturedly.


                “What did you say to the witch to make her curse you?”    

                Derek averted his eyes and muttered something under his breath.

                “Speak up. My human ears didn’t catch that.” Stiles’ smile was lazy.

                “She sensed a disruption—a fragmentation—in my energy. Because I was repressing the bond with my mate. She said my soul belonged to a freckled boy with wild hair.” Derek laughed so prettily at that.


                “I might have called her a palm reader. Told her to go back to whatever carnival she wandered off from.”

                Stiles covered his mouth with a hand and snorted. “God, you are such an asshole.”

                Derek replied warmly, “Yeah, you, too.”

                They weren’t quite I love you’s, but they were pretty close.